


Nightshade

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cunnilingus, Ficlet, M/M, Oral Sex, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 16:28:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4270125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus won’t let himself enjoy anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightshade

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.
> 
> A/N: This isn’t properly British.

Severus doesn’t mean to _kiss_ , but Remus always goes there. He comes in with his mild smile and his scarred, scruffy face, so much harder than Severus remembers it, but too soft for all he’s been through. He comes right up to Severus until Severus’ back hits the wall, and Remus is tilting his face, his breath curling over Severus’ chin. Their noses bump. Remus never makes any comments about how big Severus’ is. He never makes any biting comments about anything, though Severus tries to push him to it, because it would make this so much easier. 

Remus tilts more and presses his lips against Severus’, only light, because Severus doesn’t respond. It isn’t that he doesn’t _want_ to. It’s that he doesn’t _know how_ , and it’s too late to ask. It’s easier to pretend he doesn’t care. He watches Remus’ eyes fall closed and feels the warmth of Remus’ body, the gentle touch of Remus’ calloused hands on his sides. Remus pulls back before his tongue comes out. Severus has never kissed with tongue. He still can’t think of the appeal. 

Remus still stands close to him. With too-steady fingers, Remus unclasps Severus’ robes, one button through one hole at a time, while Severus stands rigid, frowning, and doesn’t help. The black robes fall open, and Remus brushes his fingers back through Severus’ dark hair, clearing his cheek for another kiss. This one’s open-mouthed—there’s the slight scrape of teeth. Remus traces his jaw with husky breath, then bends to kiss over Severus’ throat. Down against his collarbone. The middle of his chest. Remus sinks to his knees, and Severus wants to think _good_ ; that’s where a filthy Mudblood _belongs_ , a worthless Gryffindor, and one of those horrible brats that used to make his life a living hell. Instead, he gets a spark of _want_ , anxiousness and anticipation. Remus presses forward to mouth through the black fabric of Severus’ trousers, flat across. 

As Remus opens Severus’ fly, his hand comes up to his mouth—mostly instinct, _shame_ : fear that someone will hear them, even though they’re in the privacy of his quarters. He has no windows, everything’s dark, the door’s magically locked and the fireplace is full of impassible flames. No chance of interruption. Still, they keep this secret, surface, ephemeral. Every time Remus leaves Severus’ doors, there’s a chance he won’t come back. 

It’s more likely he will, only to find them locked, and then he’ll wait outside like a lost puppy for Severus to give in, for them to talk and fight and come back to this, like they always do. Severus gives very little, takes only a little more, and Remus pretends he’s satisfied even though they both know he wants _more_ for some strange, unfathomable reason that Severus doesn’t understand. Sometimes, he still has the fleeting, irrational fear that _Potter and Black put him up to this_ , even though they’re dead and there’s no one else to stop them. 

Remus shuffles Severus’ trousers down his hips, the waistband tight and clinging—his frame is thin, bony, and they’d fall down otherwise. Remus is the same, but not naturally. More starved and haunted, as opposed to just born _ugly_ like his ‘lover.’ He could be beautiful. He used to be, once. Back when Severus didn’t know his secret. 

Remus looks at him with no judgment. Sometimes, Severus thinks his own secret is worse. Remus has never seemed to care. But Severus has spent his life hiding himself and fighting everyone away. He lived so long in terror that Potter or some other monster would find out and exploit it, or worse, tell everyone, and even Dumbledore couldn’t protect him. Remus knows. Yet Severus still hates revealing it each time, just in case Remus is no better than the others, and this all falls apart some day. 

Remus kisses him again like he’s worth the affection. Remus holds onto Severus’ thighs, fingers curled in the fabric, and runs his face down the patch of black curls that obscure the entrance between Severus’ legs. Remus sticks out his tongue like the dog he is, pushes right through the hair and licks Severus’ lips, traitorously moist on the inside. 

He used to fantasize about this, when he was young and not so bitter. They both looked different in his daydreams. This is still satisfying, if disgusting. Remus laps away at Severus’ slit, while Severus covers his mouth and tries to keep his other hand at his side. Remus’ warm, wet tongue goes and goes, spongy soft, tasting Severus with a strange _vigor_ , like he _enjoys_ it, until Severus gives in and twists his fingers into Remus’ hair. It’s smooth but cut uneven. He fists his hand tighter than he means to, and he catches the wince on Remus’ brow. Remus’ tongue doesn’t slow. He spreads his lips wide and thrusts his tongue forward, worming between Severus’ folds until he’s squirming between them. Then he laps up and down and occasionally trails up to the little nub at the top that always makes Severus groan.

Every noise is muffled. Severus grits his teeth behind his hand. Remus licks up to wrap around Severus’ clit, suckling on it while Severus fights to keep his hips still. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to hump Remus’ face, it’s that he doesn’t want to show how into it he is. Remus makes it feel _so good_ , makes _Severus_ feel good, even though, just a few months ago, he was so sure he was beyond saving. 

In and out, Remus thrusts his tongue, shallowly fucking Severus’ opening but swirling and sucking to make up for the depth. His hands rub along Severus’ inner thighs, teasing sensitive flesh. Severus’ mind grows thinner and thinner and wanders into vague, cloudy fantasies, like pushing Remus down and riding his cock, though that’ll never happened. Severus couldn’t lower himself to letting one of Potter’s lackeys fuck him. So he just takes the steady throb of Remus’ tongue until he’s breathing hard and his stomach’s tightening and he feels like he’s burning up. He hits a freeing sense of weightlessness and a sudden stab of _pleasure_ , driving to his core. He growls into his hand and thrusts forward, Remus licking him right through, and Severus’ mind blanks while his juices fill Remus’ mouth. It’s a brief but perfect moment where everything is _right_.

Then, slowly, everything that’s wrong seeps in again. When Severus’ hand goes slack, Remus settles back on his heels. He looks up at Severus through burning eyes, lust and fondness and maybe devotion, even though that can’t be right, Severus can’t believe it, not any of it, and it would be so much easier to send this stray wolf away before he’s eaten up. 

Remus climbs unsteadily back to his feet. Severus does up his own trousers, while Remus bends to kiss his shoulder through his robe. Then the side of his neck, then his chin. He hesitates and goes in for Severus’ mouth, but Severus turns his head away. 

He grunts, “Go,” with as little emotion as he can muster. He keeps his gaze aside, aware his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are probably dilated. He waits for Remus’ soft lecture, that he doesn’t have to be alone, or scolding that he’s too stubborn, or quiet promises of misplaced affection. 

But he forgot that the moon’s only a few days away, and Remus is tried. All he does is press a kiss to Severus’ cheek, lingering, like he needs Severus’ body to hold him up. 

Then he turns and goes, made as sad as Severus is in all but these brief interludes.


End file.
